


Amazed by Peace

by gloss



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Banter, Blow Jobs, Finntrospection, Hand Jobs, M/M, OTP Feels, Porn with Feelings, Reunion Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 03:58:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13966863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: "Youhavebeen gone too long," Poe tells him, grinding lightly against Finn. "See, this is the part where we make out a lot, then I blow you."Not much besides a reunion and semipublic sex and so many feelings. All the feelings.





	Amazed by Peace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [orchis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchis/gifts).



> thanks to @orchis who prompted this, then audienced its writing, THEN beta'ed.
> 
> Title from June Jordan, "[Poem for My Love](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49218/poem-for-my-love)"

Fkio-6's surface remains, millennia after its collision with its twin, a bleak and rubble-strewn wasteland. Every step brings a crunch as brittle rocks smash further down to pebbles, dust, grit.

Finn's long, rapid strides leave a hovering trail of dusty clouds. He's all but running from the spaceport debriefing, straight toward the shallow moraines where spare parts and janked-up materiel and everything too bulky to shed but too rusty to salvage are stored.

Poe, on the other hand, is actually running. Flat out, arms pumping, mouth open. He spins Finn off-course, dragging him a off the trail, to the shadow cast by the exoskeleton of a very old cruiser.

"What's the occasion?" Finn tries to ask, but Poe's mouth is already latched on Finn's neck and his hands are pushing up under Finn's jersey.

His hands are cold and sticky from doing maintenance all morning in the raw violet light, but they're warming quickly against Finn.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm happy to see you, too," Finn says, arms going around Poe as he backs up against the fuselage.

Humming against Finn's neck, Poe slides his mouth upward and finds Finn's, already open and willing. 

"You're back," Poe says, breath coming fast.

"I am," Finn replies, tucking his fingertips under the waistband of Poe's trousers. He cups Poe's cheek with his other hand and tilts his head. "Wasn't gone too long."

Poe makes a soft, dismissive noise as he buries his face against Finn's shoulder. "Long enough," he mutters. He might be exaggerating the annoyance or he might be grumbling sincerely. It can be hard to tell.

"Fair," Finn says. Maybe this is where he should apologize; he did miss Poe, of course he did, but he also had a lot to get done. "Didn't you get my holo?"

"Saved to Beeb's main memory," Poe replies, "played enough times it should be degrading already."

"Idiot," Finn says lightly. He grips Poe's shoulders, feels them flex and bend as they crowd closer together. "You did not."

Right on cue, Poe's eyebrow jumps up. The guy does love a challenge. "Didn't I?"

"Hmm." Finn kisses him again, brings the memory of kissing Poe back into immediacy, into the movements before words. Poe tastes faintly like metal cleaner and sweat; he needs to wash his hair. He's warm and heavy against Finn, a whole other body seeking contact. Sometimes the brute, impossible-to-ignore _fact_ of that catches Finn by surprise all over again. "Maybe you did."

"Damn right I did." Poe grins hugely and lowers his voice so it's barely more than a rasp. "Several times, in fact."

The message Finn had sent had been curt and businesslike. He couldn't make it sound the way he felt; he was all too conscious of how many times, by several different factions, it would be intercepted. Yet somehow Poe managed to hear something private, intimate, even. _Suggestive?_

"I don't know whether to believe you," he admits.

Poe's palm presses against Finn's stomach, rising and falling as Finn breathes. "Excuse me? Would I lie to you? _You?_ "

"No," Finn replies. He knows that like he knows his own heartbeat. "But you--"

"I?" Poe smiles a little, narrows his eyes, rocks their hips together.

"You kid," Finn says. "You're a kidder. A joker."

"I'm a very serious person." Poe plucks at Finn's waistband. "Incredibly somber. Boring, even. Dull."

"You really have changed, then," Finn says. "Here I thought I was barely gone--"

"Humorless, even," Poe continues, undoing Finn's fly and tugging his trousers down his hips. "Real wet-blanket buzzkill, that's me."

"Poe," Finn says and tries to sound serious. If not serious, at least firm. If not firm, at least reasonable. "What're you doing?"

"You _have_ been gone too long," Poe tells him, grinding lightly against Finn's groin. "See, this is the part where we make out a lot, then I blow you."

Finn's grasp tightens reflexively and he blinks against the heat washing through him. "Awesome," he says, "sounds amazing, but--"

"No buts," Poe says, then reaches back and squeezes Finn's ass. "Well. Maybe later, if I'm really lucky, though?"

Finn kisses him again, some more, never quite able to get enough. That's the appeal, he knows: kissing isn't like eating. You do it, and you just want to _keep_ doing it. Satisfaction is never, ever going to arrive.

The way Poe kisses back, hungry _and_ generous, makes Finn's head swim. He rocks between the grip on his ass and the pressure of Poe against his crotch. 

"Whatever you want," Finn says eventually when he has to take a full breath. 

"Yay," Poe breathes. He nibbles at Finn's clavicle, the hollow of his throat.

"I just meant," Finn tries to say, " _here_? You sure?"

"Sure and certain, too," Poe replies. His knee is between Finn's thighs now, and one hand's clutching at Finn's hips. Everything's speeding up, getting a little frantic. He leans back and fixes his gaze on Finn's. "Need this, man. Need to choke on you. Need you and nothing else for a good long time."

Finn can't say anything to that, certainly not _no_ , nothing like refusal. He kisses Poe again, hastily and messily, then unlocks his hands. "Please."

"Oh, I'll please," Poe says, because of course he does, as he sinks to his knees. He winces a couple times, but before Finn can say anything more beyond a choked-off laugh, Poe's expression lightens and intensifies all at once. He looks up at Finn with wide eyes and parted lips.

He looks so good like this.

Finn brushes his knuckles along Poe's cheekbone. "Yeah, I know."

"Good," Poe murmurs. Finn adjusts his stance, drops his hips and bends his knees, grabs an outcropping to hold on to. All the while, Poe's pressing his face against Finn's drawers, breathing through the fabric, big gusts and then small sucklings.

Finn had so much on his mind, all the diplomatic minutiae and the acceptable goals, ranked in order of preference, that he barely thought of anything else. He left while Poe was still passed out after a double-shift; five warps in gut-turning quick succession found him in the Core. He dropped into the middle of the convention, made the expected stir, offered Leia's terms, then set to haggling for two standard days.

He only contacted home ("home") as they were pulling out. Hastily, of course, because conditions had suddenly worsened and it was either stand his ground on a point of refugee quotas or survive to negotiate another day. Chewie took them back on a roundabout route, as intricately snarled as any of Solo's most infamous runs.

Poe, however, seems to have thought of little else _but_ Finn, if the intensity of his attention and high level of his energy are any indication. He grins and then outright laughs when Finn bucks and groans -- but what's Finn supposed to do, Poe's tongue is hot and quick and somehow curling around the head of Finn's cock before his drawers release it.

"Poe--" Finn starts.

Poe bats his eyelashes for a moment, then tugs Finn's drawers down. His dick bobs up and Poe catches it with his mouth, already running with hot spit. A little snort of triumph, what might be a wink, and then Poe returns to fully concentrating; he jacks the base with one hand and works his tongue and lips around the shaft, tracing and nearly nibbling on veins and extra-sensitive spots, then popping the head between his lips again and sucking hard.

"Fuck."

Poe grunts at that and pushes down, chasing his hand, swallowing already so Finn can feel the pulses promising more, pulling him farther in.

He has to let go of his handhold and stuff his fist into his mouth. This is faster than their usual rhythm, a little reckless (but that's Poe), messy and urgent. Finn muffles another moan, then just bites his knuckles for the foreseeable future. His hips keep lifting and pushing into Poe's mouth; his lungs feel hot and buoyant; his eyes are streaming.

Poe slides back until he's licking lazily at the slit and then around the crest, and Finn whimpers, gazing down, twisting his other hand in Poe's hair.

"Hmm," Poe says and licks down the underside, these tiny, skipping little touches that are somehow more powerful than anything uninterrupted. Finn's cock rides Poe's cheek as Poe cranes in, lapping at Finn's balls, sucking one, then the other, then drumming them with kisses that make Finn's knees threaten to give out.

"Please," Finn says again. He needs to clear his throat. "Don't tease me?"

Poe's eyes flicker up, his gaze spangled and broken up by his lashes. He starts to smile, then nods. Finn has no chance to readjust or prepare; one moment, Poe's looking at him, the next he's pushed his mouth halfway, then further, down Finn's cock, and he's bouncing on it, battering at the entrance to his throat. When Finn rocks up and thrusts in and Poe swallows, the head pops in and they both groan.

Finn's not going to last, not going to do anything but suck desperately on air and try to lock his hips and let Poe set the rhythm. But Poe just bobs up and down, slavering, his spit mixing with Finn's pre-come, his throat working tense and slick around Finn's cock.

Finn fights to untangle his fist from Poe's hair, gentle the touch, brush his fingertips across Poe's brow -- wrinkled now in concentration, permanently in worry -- then hold his cheek, thumb braced on his chin, when he starts to come.

Poe moans louder, but Finn catches up, groaning and shuddering. 

He pushes at Poe's shoulder, tries to pull out when he's done, but Poe redoubles the attention. The crease of intense attention returns to the spot between his eyebrows.

Pleasure and heat and a little sharp pain are shaking through Finn. "Please, I want--" He swallows and coughs. He might as well be in zero-G again, he's floating in his boots. "Let me kiss you?"

_That_ gets Poe to ease up, pull off very slowly, and sit back. Tugging up his pants, Finn then slides down the wall and pulls Poe close. He brackets Poe with his knees, really digs them in, and holds him with his hands on either side of Poe's warm, sweaty neck.

There's a bit of spunk on Poe's lower lip and chin. He's looking steadily back at Finn, sucking clean his lip, blinking slowly and sleepily.

"I was promised kisses," Poe says eventually. He is far from patient. About everything.

"Let me look at you, man," Finn says and strokes Poe's stubbled jaw with his thumbs. Before Poe can finish frowning and mock-protest more, Finn tugs him the rest of the way forward. 

"Not much to look at," Poe says against Finn's mouth, "I'm really more an action-oriented guy."

"Is that right?" Finn kisses the corner of Poe's lips, the hollow at his chin, his lower lip. 

"Well, I mean. Not like _some_ people, who are always a feast for the eyes and intellect, heart and soul, even after three cycles in close proximity to a Wookiee." Poe blinks rapidly and smirks; this close, everything's wacked out of perspective. 

"Still nursing that crush on Solo, huh?"

For a moment, Poe scowls, then bites down on Finn's earlobe. When he whispers, the sound is thunderous: "You, I mean you."

"Thank you," Finn says.

Poe shuffles a little, getting off his knees to sit right on the rocks. He's still tangled up with Finn. Their kiss goes long and smeary.

Finn drags his hand down Poe's side, over his hip, and worms it between them. "Need to return the favor."

"Not a favor, a pleasure."

"Yeah, but if I say 'need to return the pleasure', that will just encourage you to make more awful porn puns."

"True," Poe says. His breath comes fast and shallow, squeaking a little as Finn tugs open his fly. "My creativity simply can't be turned off. I am but its medium, really. It flows and flows and--"

He breaks off, mouth open, tongue visible red and wet behind his teeth. Finn smirks a little at him, squeezes Poe's cock several times, then withdraws his hand so he can spit on it.

"This all right?" Finn asks, grasping Poe again, dick and shoulder, pulling him as close as he can. He switches his grip, tugs on the head of his cock and pumps him several times until Poe's gasping in time with the motion, clutching at Finn's chest and thrusting.

"Good, it's good, you're...." Poe trails off, kissing Finn so hard that their teeth clack.

Finn slows his hand a little, exchanging pumps for lingering strokes, whole hand for glancing fingertips. Poe whines a little against Finn's tongue, his hips still lifting and pushing.

Sometimes Finn wonders if Poe really does feel like this -- insistent and delighted, nearly overwhelmed -- all the time. It sounds exhausting, Finn thinks, so draining, impossible to maintain. But Poe's honesty, even when it's unsettling, is every bit as much part of him as his enthusiasm. It's all Poe. It was realizing _that_ , that let Finn relax a little. He used to worry that he was doing this -- life, sex, relationship -- wrong, since he didn't act like Poe. But Poe is Poe (and thank the stars for that); Finn isn't, and Poe seems just fine with the fact that Finn is Finn and no one else.

So even if he occasionally wonders what it is about him that makes Poe so happy, those moments have stopped adding up to very much at all. 

Because he does love this, the slick heat of Poe's mouth and taste of his skin, the weight of him against Finn and silken texture of his cock. The snores that rack their bunk each night, the spray of now-silver hairs around each nipple and soft spread of his waist. How he'll argue a minor point of droid rights for _hours_ but agree to a rota change that gives him three double shifts in a row immediately.

Poe goes still for a second, long enough for Finn to forget to keep ruminating. The moment finds him here, ablaze and longing for more, urging Poe on, wishing he could promise and deliver everything filling him up, overspilling, flooding out.

"Finn!" Poe shouts, and his voice echoes off the old ship, repeating in fragments all around them. He drops his forehead against Finn's arm, then arches back, coming over Finn's hand, and probably both their trousers. 

It doesn't matter. As Finn's hand slows to a stop, he uses the other to retrieve a handkerchief from his jacket pocket. He wipes Poe clean, carefully. Kisses Poe's sweaty temple, feels him heave for breath and mutter Finn's name some more.

Poe always has something, _plenty_ , to say. Finn's relationship to words, like his relationship to his thoughts and feelings, is different. A little narrower, but twistier, far less direct, but no less honest.

"Love you," he says now, and Poe opens heavy lids to smile shyly back at him. "Missed you."

"Cool," Poe whispers back, then licks Finn's knuckles clean. Incorrigible, Leia has called him, and indomitable. Insatiable is more like it; impossible to satisfy, Finn thinks, always ready to taste, do, touch more. "Stick around a while?"

"Do my best," Finn says and their foreheads tip together as they catch their breath.


End file.
